


In The Mood

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: Ghostbusters (Movies)
Genre: Humour, M/M, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-31 17:30:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know the bit in Ghostbusters II where it's implied that Egon's slept with the mood-slime? Yeah. That.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Mood

Ray had his back to the door, and was leaning over the workbench, crooning softly to the jar of pink gloop in front of him. Egon paused for a minute, observing the gentle bubbles frothing the surface, and smiling slightly at Ray's quiet singing. 

"I didn't realise you knew any lullabies," he said after a while and Ray jumped sheepishly.

"What? Oh, well. Yes." He cleared his throat, and gestured at the jar. "It's definitely producing a different reaction from the negative emotions. But weaker, somehow." He yawned, and stretched. "Do you think that's a cutting indictment of society?"

Egon laughed. "Probably more to do with intensity of the projection. If you'd been belting out a love song, it might have produced a more volatile reaction."

"Passion versus affection?" Ray looked interestedly back into the slime, which had returned to a quiescent state. "What do you suggest?"

Egon came to stand next to him, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "Well, there is one obvious thing we could try." Ray looked blank and he sighed, colouring slightly. "Don't make me say it Ray."

"Well you're going to have to, Mr Mysterious, 'cause you've lost me." 

Egon cleared his throat. "You suggested it just now. Passion."

"You're going to make it dance the tango?"

"I was thinking something more - hands on."

Ray wrinkled his nose as a suspicion began to dawn on him. "You're not seriously talking about - Spengler! That's gross!"

"I don't see why. A purely clinical experiment." Egon fidgeted uncomfortably. 

"How would that even work? What are you going to do, jack off into the jar?" Ray stared at him, caught between amused revulsion and a hideous fascination.

Egon shook his head irritably. "No of course not, I don't imagine that would have any discernable effect whatsoever. I was thinking more of - " he faltered, and when Ray looked up he made an illustrative jerking motion with his hand.

Ray dropped his head to his arms on the desk, stifling giggles. "Psychoactive slime-lube. You're a sick puppy Spengler."

"All in the name of science, Ray," Egon retorted loftily, decanting some of the gloop into a beaker with a large pipette.

"Well, I hope you'll be very happy together."

"You could join in if you wanted," Egon threw in hesitantly. "It would probably be more effective with two."

Ray grinned at him. "You're on your own with this one boy. Let me know how it works out for you."

Egon paused in the doorway. "If the others come back early - "

"Don't worry, I won't let anyone interrupt your alone time," Ray smirked. "For one thing they'd probably need counselling afterwards and we don't have the spare funds."

Carrying the beaker carefully up the stairs to the dorm, Egon reflected on the ridiculousness of what he was about to attempt. Also, the potential dangers. This was still a largely unclassified substance, who knew what side-effects it might induce? Still, it had to be done.

Well, strictly speaking it didn't, but the idea had started to appeal to him slightly more that it perhaps should have. He set the beaker down carefully on the nightstand by his bed, and considered. There were at least precautions he could take.

Rooting through the pockets of his lab-coat, he came up with a pair of disposable plastic gloves, and dropped them next to the beaker. Next went through his drawer and came up empty handed. Didn't want to think too closely about what it said about his life that he could lay his hands on disposable gloves more easily than a condom.

Looked down the row of cots thoughtfully, eyes coming to rest on the messiest space. Peter. He was bound to have some. Even if only to keep up appearances, Egon thought uncharitably, and went to rifle his friend's cabinet. 

As he suspected, he got lucky, and carried the prize back to his own bed. Feeling rather exposed, he made sure the door was firmly closed, and cast a nervous eye at the hole in the floor where the fireman's pole disappeared downwards. Still, Ray should still be safely in the lab, and he didn't think there was anyone else in the station. Janine had gone to lunch half an hour ago, which meant he probably had at least an hour and a half left there.

Egon slipped off his lab coat and settled back on the bed. He was half-hard already, just contemplating what he was going to do, and ran guilty fingers over his crotch, pressing down with the heel of his hand and briefly closing his eyes. Quickly unbuttoned his flies and shuffled his pants down over his hips, pulling his briefs down as well. Took himself in hand, giving a few long, slow strokes, biting his lip.

When he was fully hard, he rolled the condom on, then snapped on the plastic gloves. He didn't _think_ this stuff was dangerous to bare flesh, but it wouldn't hurt to be careful.

Picked up the glass jar. Hesitated, then dipped in his fingers, lifting out a viscous glob of the slime. Placed the jar back down, and lay back, slicking himself with the ooze, letting it slide beneath his fingers, spreading it over his cock, working it in, working himself. His head fell back against the pillow, and he let out a little sigh.

It felt good. Warm and comforting, and filthily erotic, the slip-slide of the goo, the pressure of his hand both familiar and arousing. More so than usual? He shifted into a position where he could look down at himself, aware that this was supposed to be an experiment after all. Theoretically he should be able to create some form of feedback loop, whereby the positive emotions imparted to the substance also heightened his own experience. 

And if it didn't work? Well, even unsuccessful experiments were valuable in themselves weren't they? 

"Absence of proof is not proof of absence," he muttered under his breath, trying to block out the sly mental voice suggesting that this was all an excuse to have a wank on work's time.

But he thought it was working. Producing not the violent bubbling they'd observed in the medium when they'd yelled at it, but a pleasant fizzing sensation, like he was covered in effervescing sherbet.

This _was_ more intense than usual, he was certain now. The heat was spreading through his body, making him sweat, and the ooze was - was _pulsing_ now, around his dick. He wasn't imagining it. This was incredible. Unprecedented.

Egon opened his mouth to yell for Ray to come up here and see this, then closed it again hastily. He sometimes suspected that his colleagues didn't entirely share his curiosity about things with as much dedication as they made out.

He groaned quietly, hand pumping faster now, feeling the intensity rack up another notch. Part of him thought he should be calling out to it encouragingly, like they had in the lab - _come on baby, oh yeah, that's right, give it to me_ \- but he cringed inwardly at the thought. He'd always been more of a fist-biter than a screamer when it came to sex, and he wasn't about to change now, scientific precedent or not. 

Besides, it shouldn't matter, not if it was picking up on his emotions. Feeding off them, in fact. Was there _more_ of it now, or was it just his imagination? His thighs were wet, the sheet beneath him soaked. He stripped off the now-pointless gloves with reckless haste and curled his fingers back around his cock, feeling an instant jolt of deeper satisfaction as his skin made contact with the ooze.

He was close, he could feel it. Gasping for breath, he finally let go of the detachment he'd been clinging to, let the sensation take over, a dizzy feeling of falling, like he was drunk. His climax hit him hard, and he writhed beneath it in toe-clenching ecstasy.

When it was over he lay there weak-legged and sated, aware of a daft grin establishing itself firmly on his face. Part of him warned that this wasn't _him_ , that this was the effect of the goo, that normally he would be rushing to clean himself up, to hide the evidence before anyone guessed what he'd done. But right now, he couldn't bring himself to care, and the fleeting thought went through his head that maybe this was how Venkman felt _all the time_.

\--

When Egon sidled back into the lab a little later, Ray threw him an enquiring look, then laughed at the expression of nonchalant interest he was failing to pull off. Slid off the stool he was occupying and walked over, straightened Egon's glasses for him.

"Worked then?"

Egon coughed. "A satisfactory result, yes. This stuff's more potent than we suspected."

"Satisfactory. Uh huh." Ray smirked, taking in the indentations of teeth still visible in Egon's lower lip and the slightly goofy look in his eyes. "You think we could market this stuff?"

"I think knowingly promoting an emotional intensifier to an already largely unstable population would be incredibly irresponsible," retorted Egon, sounding more like himself by the second.

Ray just smiled, and wondered whether he should have taken Egon up on his earlier offer to join in after all.

\--


End file.
